by Keith Wilson

He walks much in the desert
and only his eyes betray him.
It is not fashionable to speak
of evil so he does not, remains
silent as the dark birds circle.

Once more he out walks his needs
moving his lips as if he were speaking.
Far away the belltoned church answers
but he hears only notes to an essay
he seems to be writing with his life.


from Night and It's Secret Songs